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Sunday, April 09, 2017

The sound of infinite present

Recently in Marrakesh, deep the Assembly of the Dead I had my ipod stolen. There are many ripples that led to changed directions which caused it (late trains, late arrivals) but none are truly worth recounting. It is gone; it happens; I have insurance for such occurrences.

But what it has done is make me hyper-present and hyper-aware. Before, I could duck into my own world and wander through the market with my shades on, conducting Amelie's comptine valse or bouncing to Solillaquists of Sound. Now, I have nothing to distract me from the sounds and so I pay even closer attention--there is no hiding from the present.

So I listen deeper to the lilt and gutturals of the derija. Or the sounds of the cars passing like waves. Or the waves themselves crashing onto the shores. The birds chirp-chirping above.

I may get a CD player to replace the ipod, and collect scores of Moroccan sounds. Or I may continue on without sound shelter, rained on by the sounds around me.

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About Me

One of a dying breed of Bohemian, Orientalist Zionists. Also a cunning linguist, phrase-turner, gastronomist and a Public Diplomacy Knight Errant. Of late, a PD Guru, Comm Swami, Idea Peddler and Sultan of Spin.